Substitution
by Harey
Summary: He realized then, in the sight of her tangled hair and darkly smeared eyes, between the shadows, that all the real beauty of the world had died and that this weak imitation was all that remained. The beauty of a whore.


**AN:** **ONE THING I WOULD LIKLE TO MAKE CLEAR: I actually wrote this a few weeks ago. I just sort of procrastinated before posting. Thank god for snow days. Snow is so romantic, too. Good for feeding fics. **

**Anyway, I wanted to say that, although this is quite similar to MST3KguruK10's "Voyeur", there was no ripping-off involved, just coincidence. I actually wrote this before she wrote hers, and she really had Equus in mind. However, I would like to thank her for beta-ing. Consider this dedicated to you for all your help--in areas other than writing, too. 3**

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"Pay me, Mr. T?" It was a tentative request, her eyes wide and glistening in the poor light, her lips slightly parted in expectation.

She was one hell of a sight, in a mixed sort of way: Her pale skin was mostly exposed, uneven with gooseflesh from the cold night. She was thin and dirty and her decrepit, revealing dress was torn in several places. She was sweating lightly despite the cold, and her tongue flicked across her lips impatiently, hungrily.

His lip curled in disgust, at her pathetic desperation, her damnable desire. For all he knew, she was probably diseased.

"You come in 'ere, stinkin' of other men, lookin' like shit an' beggin' me to fuck you. For all I know, you're gonna die in a couple weeks from whatever you picked up on the street." He flicked open his razor in a threatening flash of silver. Clearly the gin had loosened his tongue a bit--he usually made it a point not to speak to her. But the bottle was overturned on the floor and the gin was soaking into the wood, and for once Mrs. Lovett wouldn't be bothered to clean it up.

She wasn't fazed by his less-than-courteous response. "Won't make it nothin' sentimental, promise. Take whatever you want, it'll be all business-like. Surely you'll be wantin' a little somethin' after goin' wivout for so many years, eh?"

"Don't want nothin' from the likes of you," he snapped, but he couldn't take his eyes from her. She ignored him and stepped forward, her fingers brushing his cheek lightly. He jerked back from her with a growl, wondering when exactly she'd get the message.

"C'mon, Mr. T. Lighten up a little." She was trying to coax him, but her voice had grown low and husky. Things like this didn't usually come over her, but she wanted him. Those other dirty men had her all riled up for something especially nice, and she wanted to get a good look and feel at his body. He was beautiful, in a harsh and almost graceful way, lean and tough and powerful. Roughly elegant. She wouldn't mind taking a piece of that for herself.

She stepped closer still, the little smirk on her face revealed as she moved out of the shadows. But it poorly disguised a pitiful longing. A hot shiver of it shot up her spine--why did his cold kindle her heat?

Despite his reluctance to comply with her, he couldn't tear his eyes away. For some reason she was captivating, in whatever sense someone so utterly without dignity could be. He realized then, in the sight of her tangled hair and darkly smeared eyes, between the shadows, that all the real beauty of the world had died and that this weak imitation was all that remained. Cold winter had claimed his soul, but he could seek warmth in the body of a whore.

He watched her as her tongue flicked out again to lick her lips, as she came close enough to brush her hips against his. "Mr. Todd," she pleaded, her voice breaking slightly. "C'mon, love, please." His expression remained unchanged, and all she could really see of it were his deeply shadowed pits of his eyes, that strangely soft-looking mouth. She found herself touching him, skimming her fingertips along his cheekbones, down his cheek, and over his lips. This time, he didn't push her away; in fact, as her touch traveled down his neck, she saw his lip quiver slightly.

This small vulnerability was all it took to send a wave of desire rushing through her body, to make her shake with anticipation.She pulled him forward in a sudden fit of impulse and bit his lip, then skimmed her tongue along it ravenously. She gave a husky little moan as he got her dress up enough to slide his hand underneath, gripping one of her damp thighs roughly. A sudden sound of tearing fabric reached her lust-dulled ear as the shining razor ripped the clothing from her body. She whimpered, shivering as the cold touched her exposed skin. She struggled to get the more complicated undergarments off, but he shoved her roughly against the wall, making her hiss with pleasure as he gripped her bare breast.

Never with anyone else had she experienced such raw and unabashed desire and now he had her bucking shamelessly against his hand, whining for more, more, please more as he grabbed her roughly. He wouldn't treat his wife like this, she thought, but then again, he didn't treat many women any way at all. And then there was also the fact that she herself had once been a respectable lady.

Soon he ceased his groping to get his trousers off, and she trembled as he dropped the razor to tear the clothes from his body. Then he had her on that nasty floor, pried her legs open, wasted no time in getting between them. She gasped at the brief sight of his naked form, surprised at how thin he was, at how she could see his bones, but that he was still so wiry and tough-looking. He grunted as he entered her, and she felt a harsh stinging on her face when he struck her for sinking her nails into his back at the pain. She gave a half-aroused little cry, almost enjoying the bruises she'd have the next morning. The next morning, when Mr. Todd would likely avoid looking her in the eye.

"Poor Mrs. Lovett, wonder wot 'e's doin' to 'er?," they'd say, but she didn't give a damn. She'd had to beg for it, after all.

She gave her own little grunt of effort as she rolled over on top of him, panting with anticipation by this time. She hadn't counted on the fact that he was far stronger than she and the possibility that he might not like her playful little games. He slammed her back down on her back, pinning her so hard that she could barely lift her hips from the floor. But still she struggled against him, writhing with persistentdesire. She came before he did, surprisingly, pulling in quick little gasps of air as she gripped him mercilessly. Truthfully, she hadn't expected that. She hadn't expected so much pleasure of her own. She even began to think she might get another one in, with the time it was taking for him to get what he needed. And she was sure he needed it, after all this time.

His face was twisted into that snarl that had become so characteristic of his face, and his eyes were fixed a little beyond her as she felt his body shaking. She arched up underneath him, her stomach tightening, body tensing hard. He gave an animalistic growl and pushed into her harder, making her moan at the sudden heat that bloomed within her body. They struggled against one another for a few seconds, panting and gasping.

He pulled out of her abruptly as soon as he was finished, leaving her in a shivering heap on the dirty floor. He rose to his feet effortlessly and gathered up his clothes as she watched him with guarded, glistening eyes.

"Well?" he snapped, "Get up, get outta here."

"But Mr. T," she whined, rising shakily to her feet, "wot 'bout me money?" She lurched forward, wobbling on unsteady legs, wincing, as she was still swollen and tender. She groaned as her eye settled incredulously on the shredded heap of clothing. It wouldn't be easy to afford another dress, damn him. Not that the thing had ever been exactly pretty, anyway.

"Not worth payin' for, now get out." His voice rose threateningly as he knelt to retrieve the only lover he'd ever be willing to put into his hands.

Ah, well, she thought, not surprised to feel a little sting of disappointment. At least she'd gotten some benefit out of her profession after all.

All he was thinking was that the cool metal was far more soothing to him than her feverish skin could ever be. But it could be no substitute to Lucy's skin, either--whatcould?


End file.
